


nothing to lose

by longituddeonda



Category: The Mandalorian (TV)
Genre: Clothed Sex, Dry Humping, F/M, Fluff, I don't know how to tag this, Injured Sex, Injury, Minor Injuries, No use of y/n, Sharing a Bed, Touch-Starved, and it could technically be gender neutral, and reader's body is never referred to in a gendered way, blaster injuries, but also pretty tame, it's smutty, no pronouns used
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-08
Updated: 2020-02-08
Packaged: 2021-02-27 21:21:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,533
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22612483
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/longituddeonda/pseuds/longituddeonda
Summary: “Don’t go.”“What?” you glanced over. Mando tilted his head down.“I, uh, I like it...,” he said. “When you hold me. No one has—”He froze as if he had said too much. It was too late. You understood perfectly, and it hurt. He must have spent so much time alone. Mandalorians weren’t exactly known for much beyond fighting, and you couldn’t imagine them being much into relationships. Such a large portion of their young was adopted, it couldn’t have been a life with much sentimentality.“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have asked,” he continued at your silence.“No. I can stay,” you breathed out. You weren’t thrilled at the idea, it was too innocent. You didn’t just want to climb into his bed if you weren’t going to get to give him everything, like you wanted.
Relationships: The Mandalorian (The Mandalorian TV)/Reader, The Mandalorian (The Mandalorian TV)/You
Comments: 8
Kudos: 299





	nothing to lose

**Author's Note:**

> requested by an anon over on my tumblr (@longitud-de-onda) asking for some touchstarved mando

What exactly happened, you weren’t sure. All you knew was that one second all you could see was plumes of dust and the red streaks of blaster fire, and the next second the dust cleared and every one of the fifteen people in the bar was dead on the floor and Mando was struggling to get up, making some sort of pained noise. You had dropped down to his side, wrapping an arm around his chest to help him up.

Once he was standing, you had knelt back down to grab your blaster, which you let go of upon seeing your partner hurt on the ground. It was still hot from the fight, but Mando was clearly injured past the usual point, so you slipped it back into your belt, wincing as the hot metal singed your pants.

You had returned to Mando, holding his arm and helping him out of the establishment. He was silent. When he was hurt, he would normally complain and make some noises. Completely silent wasn’t anything good in your mind.

Now that you were back on the ship, you set him down on the floor, knowing there was no way he was going to make it up to his quarters like this. You spent the entire walk here rambling, hoping he wouldn’t pass out on you. Not only were you relying on the man to help you complete the job and get your share of the bounty, but you had started to care a lot for him. Your feelings were edging into a romantic territory, one you’d never admit to him. But if he died? That would break you.

“Mando, are you with me?” you had returned to where he was lying with the medpack.

“Yeah...” he said, his voice weak and floaty. “It’s my... side.”

You took a deep breath. Medical situations were never your strong suit. You could hardly stand the sight of blood.

“Okay, I’m going to take off your armor, alright?” you asked.

He nodded, and you reached around his chest to undo the straps and pull off the metal chest plate. With only his shirt covering his torso, you could now see what happened.

A blaster had hit him a centimeter beyond the edge of his armor, burning a small hole in his shirt. The skin below was bright red and burnt. It didn’t look terrible, but you couldn’t see how wide the wound was, and you knew blaster fire damage went deep under the skin.

“I need to take your shirt off,” you said, trying to keep calm.

There was no response. You said his name again a few times to no avail. Placing a hand on his chest, there was a steady breath, but that didn’t do much to calm your panicking mind.

 _Fuck it. He’d do the same thing for me._ You struggled to remove the rest of his armor and you pulled the scissors out of the med pack to cut his shirt off.

You gasped as you peeled back the cloth, revealing an ugly wound. It was going to take a while to fix things up.

After 20 minutes of frantic first aid, you looked over your work. Mando’s skin was cleaned up and properly bandaged, and there was enough numbing cream that he probably wouldn’t feel the pain for another 12 hours. You were exhausted. Collapsing on the floor next to him, you began to feel the burn on your thigh from where you placed the hot blaster.

With Mando knocked out, and all the burn care supplies out and available, it only made sense to take care of it now. You slipped out of your boots and undid your belt. Your pants came off shortly after, leaving you in your black shirt and underwear. It wasn’t a bad wound or anything, just a long line, red and hot to the touch. And it _stung_. That had to be the worst part about burns; they were so much better when they were worse. The light ones weren’t bad enough to singe the nerves.

You winced at the ointment on your skin, but the cooling effect began shortly after. A few spritzes of bacta-spray and a large bacta-patch later, and you’d probably be fine.

“Thank you,” Mando’s voice startled you and you looked up. His mask was pointed in your direction, and you were very aware of your state of undress.

“Oh, you’re awake!” scrambling to his side as he attempted to push himself up to a seated position. “You took a pretty nasty blast there, but it’ll probably heal without any scarring. I hope.”

“I’m sure it’ll be fine,” he said, “You’ve done more than I would have.”

You looked up at him. How did he survive before you came along? That patch covering his chest was the bare minimum. It was your best attempt at shitty first aid.

“You need to rest,” you said, reaching over. “I’ll help you up to the cot.”

“No—we should go,” he said.

“We can stay here for the night. The ship’s pretty well hidden, it’s not like one night’s going to make that much of a difference,” you said, “If things get bad, I can fly us out.”

“You’re not touching my ship,” Mando said and you laughed. He had tried to sound aggressive but the pain in his voice muted anything he said.

You let your gaze linger on his chest, taking a moment to admire. He was larger than the armor let on, muscles bulky and softly defined. If you weren’t in so much pain, the visuals might have gone straight to your core.

“Come on, up to your cot,” you held your hand to help him get up.

Climbing the ladder up into the quarters was no easy task. Whenever Mando tried to use his left arm the bandage would pull at his skin and he’d freak out that he was going to further hurt himself. You settled for climbing the ladder first and helping by pulling him up. It wasn’t the best solution, but it did the job.

You got him situated in the cot, and after helping him out of the armor covering his legs and the remaining rags of his shirt, you stood in the room, still not wearing pants, but hesitating to leave.

“I, um, sorry about your shirt,” you said. “I didn’t want to ruin it, but I couldn’t take it off with the helm—”

“It’s fine. I have others,” he said, and you weren’t sure, but he could have been eyeing your naked legs. You had both seen each other in various states of undress, the past couple weeks of traveling together in a small, bare-bones ship not lending much privacy, but this felt different.

“You should sleep,” you said, needing to pry yourself from his gaze. You couldn’t see his face, his reactions. And that scared you. You turned to leave. “I’m going to go rest up in the cockpit.”

“Don’t go.”

“What?” you glanced over. Mando tilted his head down.

“I, uh, I like it...,” he said. “When you hold me. No one has—”

He froze as if he had said too much. It was too late. You understood perfectly, and it hurt. He must have spent so much time alone. Mandalorians weren’t exactly known for much beyond fighting, and you couldn’t imagine them being much into relationships. Such a large portion of their young was adopted, it couldn’t have been a life with much sentimentality.

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have asked,” he continued at your silence.

“No. I can stay,” you breathed out. You weren’t thrilled at the idea, it was too innocent. You didn’t just want to climb into his bed if you weren’t going to get to give him everything, like you wanted.

You returned to the side of the cot, sitting down before hiking your legs up onto the bed, getting comfortable next to Mando. His arm wrapped around your waist, centimeters away from the edge of your shirt. It felt like your skin was on fire. If only he would just slip his hand under the fabric, you would explode.

You slipped an arm around him, hoping it was okay. He made a sound, muffled by the mask, but you thought it was good. It was so easy to feel comfortable, wrapped up with Mando, the guy you had come to care so much about. You wanted to imagine it was something more. Something better. But you would take what you could get. It wasn’t like you could enter a relationship. Both of you were bounty hunters. You worked alone.

His thumb started moving in circles across your abdomen and _holy shit, that felt good._ You wanted him to keep doing _that_ for as long as you could get.

“Mando,” you breathed, and he stopped.

“Sorry, I didn’t—”

“Please, don’t stop,” you said. Nothing happened. You were convinced you had completely ruined it. The rest of the job would be painful longing glances. If he didn’t kick you out first.

Then it started again and you exhaled. You were leaning into his every touch. His hand slipped down further, coming into contact with your skin and you let out a filthy moan you really hoped wouldn’t come back to bite you in the ass later.

You pulled him closer as carefully as possible, as not to disturb his wound, and your heads crashed together, the hard beskar hitting your skull with a painful _thunk_.

“Fuck!” you leaned back, hand flying to your forehead, feeling an already developing bump. Mando pushed back, distancing himself from you.

“I’m sorry I—”

“It’s fine, can you take that off?” you just wanted his hands back on your body, you wanted to feel him close, and you knew he felt the same.

“I can’t.” _Shit. The creed._

“Right, sorry, I didn’t—”

“Wait right there,” he said, sitting up with a groan and leaning over you. He reached down to the ground where the pile of his armor was.

When he lay back down again he was holding the remains of his shirt. Ripping a strip from it, he held it up in front of your face.

“Is this okay?” he said.

It took a moment for you to understand what he was asking, but once you knew, you nodded. He set it in front of your eyes, carefully wrapping around your head, tying it into a smooth knot. It smelled like him: the cold of the beskar and the warmth of leather and sweat.

You heard a soft hiss and then the sound of another person breathing in front of you. You were pretty sure you could sense his arm reach around you as he placed his helmet on the ground before he was back onto you, hands running across your waist, underneath your shirt.

You tried to pull him in again, this time successfully, holding his hips against yours as you rolled into him. He moaned, an unfiltered sound that you hoped to commit to memory.

“You have no idea how much I’ve wanted to do this,” he said, “to feel you, to touch you, to be right next to you.”

“Mando, I—” you started before he reached a hand around your ass, squeezing gently and you gasped into his neck. His voice was so perfect. It came from his chest, husky and deep, and its sound settled deep in your core. You pushed your hips up into him, throwing your injured leg over him to obtain more friction.

He ran his hand around and underneath you, trailing down your thigh and back up, over the bandage and you flinched. He moved his hand back up to your waist and you whined. You took the hand that was on his waist and reached it lower down on his body, bringing him somehow even closer to you.

“I know we can’t,” he was breathing heavily now, long pauses punctuating every word, “I know we can’t do more, you’re, you’re injured. I’m injured, but—”

He stopped to let out a noise you knew would be etched into your brain years later as you rolled your hips into him, the friction hitting you just as hard. He began to rut his hips into yours, and you could feel his erection poking at you.

You let him set the pace, your heart rate steadily increasing as you felt an orgasm build up, and moved your hands up to his face. You had no idea what he looked like, and you knew it didn’t really matter. You had fallen for him back when you hadn’t even seen more than a small patch of skin. But now you could feel the soft curve of his jaw, his smooth lips, and the light stubble of a few days without shaving.

He must have liked your hands roaming across his face, because he moaned again, thrusting harder against you. The friction of his erection and the cotton of your underwear was setting you on fire, and you knew you were seconds away from an orgasm, you hips bucking into his involuntarily.

“Mando, I— _fuck, Mando—_ I’m gonna, I’m gonna cum,” you could hardly keep your voice down.

“ _Fuck_ , you’re so hot under my hands,” Mando breathed out, and that was just about enough to push you over, “Cum for me baby.”

And the feeling washed over you, white-hot and uncontrollable, flooding through your body, causing your head to throb with pleasure and you pressed into him. He kept moving against you, and even though you were spent, you rolled your hips another time, and you felt his body shudder, his motions stilling as he groaned.

You wished you could see his face as he orgasmed, jealous of his ability to see you moments ago in the heat of things. You held his back, feeling the rise and fall of his chest against your stomach.

“That was—” Mando breathed, “That was good.”

You chuckled. “Good? I, oh fuck, I loved that. I’ve been wanting to...”

“Me too,” he said, dipping his head into your chest. You reached a hand up into his hair, tangling your fingers in the soft strands which were longer than you had expected.

“Wish we weren’t all bandaged up,” he mumbled.

“Oh yeah? Why’s that?” you asked.

“I want to take off that shirt and your underwear. Want to feel you. Want to be inside you,” he said and you felt the stir of arousal start up again.

But you were exhausted. The fight earlier today leaving you with little energy beyond the adrenaline needed to perform first aid. It was a miracle you were able to manage what you did with Mando.

“I want that too, Mando,” you said, “Please promise me when we’re better, you’ll do that.”

“ _Fuck,_ I can promise you so much more,” he said.

“Can you promise me that we can fall asleep right here in each other’s arms?”

He raised his head from beneath your chin, and his lips brushed against yours. You leaned in, his soft lips catching yours between them. It was over all too soon.

“I don’t want to be anywhere else.”


End file.
